I find myself unable to write even a single word about the story of Baby P without tearing up. I think that's in part because he bears a such striking resemblance to my youngest son, and it's unbearable for me to contemplate him suffering any of the same agony and abuse as Baby Peter.

But the emotion I feel, while perhaps more acute, is clearly no different than that which shocked the conscience of Great Britain and those around the world who followed Baby P's story - and who've now learned the names of those who killed him.

It's the shock of seeing evil visited on innocence, of struggling to comprehend how any parent could do such things to their child, and of knowing that everyone - the parents, relatives, friends, British social service workers, everyone - failed this little soul.

It's deeply haunting to know that the story of Baby P is not unique. Similar abuses no doubt take place with tragic frequency all over the world.  But, while painful to face, at least the story of Baby P helps focus the collective mind on the horrors of child abuse - even if it simultaneously tears at the threads of one's faith in man kind.